Pachelbel’s Cannon in D continued to play as the usher guided me into my pew. My daughter’s wedding day! The church was perfect. There was every shade of pink from palest blush to deepest rose. Tulle, satin, ribbon, lace, roses. Without the expertise of the professional decorator, it could have been a disaster. I smiled as I recalled a scene from one of my favorite movies, “Steel Magnolias.” Julia Roberts as Sally Fields’ daughter was getting married and her two colors were blush and bashful. Sally made the comment that the whole church looked as though it had been washed in Pepto-Bismol. Though that thought popped into my head, it was not the impression created here. “Pink, mama, I must have pink. That has been my signature color from the time you gave me my first pink satin ballet slippers.” So pink it was! All shades and tints of it.

The expert had combined and blended to perfection. Banks and arbors of roses, ferns and ivy flanked the altar and climbed into the choir loft behind. Ivory candles cast their glow from candelabras and sconces. Multiple tapers placed on sills illuminated the stained glass windows. Hurricane lamps and trailing bouquets marked the pews.

A white velvet carpet had been rolled down the aisle and would be strewn with pink rose petals. The setting was perfection and the air heavy with the scent of roses and candles. Nothing had been overlooked; every small detail was exact.

My gown had been chosen with care. The ivory silk was tailored to perfection. The rose trim matched the tiny evening hat, bag and shoes. Candlelight being kind, I knew I looked younger than my years. I had received admiring looks as I had walked down the aisle. It was important to me to look my best on this day. My professionally done hair and make-up added to my illusion of confidence. My smile, radiant and only slightly stilted had been practiced for days. An ivory linen handkerchief was at the ready. The friends and relatives gathered here would not question tears from the mother of the bride.

Different music played now. The bridesmaids and finally the maid of honor entered. Their off-shoulder satin sheath dresses, identical in style began with the palest pink and ended with the honor attendant in deep rose. The bouquets featured all the shades of roses along with trailing satin and lace ribbons. The girls’ smiles all revealed perfect teeth as white as the pearls around their necks and in their ear lobes. Hair was different colors, but all caught in the same upswept arrangement and studded with more pearls.

Groomsmen in black formal dress with pink rosebuds in lapels and stiffly starched white shirts fronted by cravats with pearl stickpins waited for them at the end of their march. The groom stood proudly with them. Five men, two brothers in blood and three brothers in spirit stood at the ready.

Pachelbel again and the flower girls in their wispy white dresses with pink ribbon sashes, pink satin slippers on their feet and garlands of roses in their hair dropped their petals on the carpet.

All were in place—a fanfare—my daughter entered. With no father or brother to accompany her, she had chosen to walk alone; she needed only the man she was meeting at the end of this moment’s journey. She carried a bouquet of white calla lilies. A jewel encrusted confection of imported white satin, lace and tulle suited her tiny frame and blonde beauty. What might have been “overdone” for most, for her was simply the perfect costume for the day that was the beginning of “happily ever after” in the fairy tale in which she was the princess. She had truly found her Prince Charming and “happily ever after” was as assured as ever it can be. Her face beamed with joy as she swept down the aisle under the admiring gaze of the gathered well-wishers. My heart swelled with pride—my beautiful daughter—a life of happiness before her.

I had been only seventeen when she was born and from the first moment I saw her I knew that she was the most important thing in my life forever. That had remained true for the past twenty-four years. We were as close as mother and daughter could be. We were each other’s best friend. She stopped as she reached me, gave me a kiss and a whispered, “I love you.”

The first tear eased down my cheek.

She moved on to the end of her procession and was met by her prince. The minister spoke lovely words and as he was nearing the end of the ceremony, I was finally forced to focus my gaze, which I had been unable to do until this point. “I Urs, take thee Jenny….”

The second tear slid down my cheek.

I loved my daughter and wanted only her happiness.

I also loved this man. I loved him fiercely with all of my heart and every fiber of my being. I had loved him from the day Jenny had brought him home. I desired him with a wildness of spirit that was all consuming. It was unwanted. It was unreasonable. It was not appropriate. But there it was! It was unchangeable. It was undeniable. It was impossible. Nights spent in hopeless dreams or bitter rage had been my portion for months. Days of making wedding plans with my daughter were sweet torture. My soul cried out for him and was torn in anguish.

Only in the wee hours before daylight of this day had a calm spread through me and I had made peace with what would be—what must be. I would concentrate on the happiness of the daughter who was the light of my life—who must never know of my heart’s betrayal.

The ceremony was finished—they were pronounced man and wife. Everyone proceeded to a reception as perfectly planned and carried out as the ceremony. After the first dance of the bride and groom, he stood before me and held out his hand. I smiled properly as I took it and rose. He kissed my cheek and led me onto the dance floor. The only time I would be in the arms of this man I loved would be the day he became my son-in-law! From this day forward, I would be the perfect mother-in-law. I would not wish it any different.